


The Bells

by Itsquiettime



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsquiettime/pseuds/Itsquiettime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, most knew to stay out of the swamps, but a newcomer moved to town the evening Mark watched as the swamp claimed another soul and he did not know to stay away.  He was not warned of the alligator with too many eyes and the beautiful raven-haired, brown eyed witch who could enchant him into a world of light and dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_WARNING!! READ THIS FIRST_ **

**_Hi guys!! I’m going to post the first chapter of ‘The Bells’ and.  I need to warn you:_ **

**_This is kind of a horror fic.  It WILL get gory.  It WILL get rude.  It WILL be disgusting and weird.  I’m sorry, but I’ve been dying to write a story like this and I suppose it’s a great time to introduce my oc._ **

**_It still will be cute, fluffy, and adorable too, so don’t let me scare you._ **

**_ANYWAY  I just wanted to warn you guys.  I hope you enjoy, though.  Jack is not introduced yet. I wanted you to get a feel for the story and how this is going to be written in this first chapter._ **

**_I wrote this chapter to:[A Demon Like Me - Blair Crimmins and The Hookers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbJu9htCXEc)_ **

Mark sat on the roots of an ancient tree, his back propped against its trunk.  His black T-shirt was damp, his faded, ripped jeans drenched, his bare toes were dipped into the murky swamp water. 

He took a deep breath, letting it out and relaxing back against The Old Warrior at his back, listening as it sang to him.  Listening to it tell him of love, heartache, and the witches that came before him. 

A spray of water jerked him out of his trance and he rolled his head to look down at Colt.  

Colt gestured with their scaled tail farther down into the swamp where the loud roar of an engine could be heard.  

That was unusual.  Most knew to stay well away from the marshes on the outskirts of town where a small house and a mysterious loner had come to reside.  

Colt snapped their jaws again before sinking into the water to Mark’s left, either hiding or planning an attack, he didn’t know and didn’t care which.  If some dumbass thought they could catch Colt, then it was their funeral. 

Mark scooted up to the edge of the roots, dropping his legs further into the water and letting it soothe his skin. He felt Colt’s rough scales brush against his foot, but he couldn’t see through the moss to know what part of their body touched his.  

The sound of the motor drew closer and eventually a boat came into view.  In the boat were two men, both covered in camouflage and with nets across their laps.  

So they were planning to lay traps?  

Colt had a bit of a reputation around town of being ‘the biggest damn gator you’ve ever laid your eyes on’ and many men were out to catch them, but any man looking to trap Colt was a fool.  

Mark shifted to the left, letting the wind feel the dance of his movement, then shifted to the right, changing its direction and causing the moss dangling from the trees to sway. 

Mark chuckled as the men struggled to keep their caps on and nets inside the boat in the sudden gust of wind.  

Hearing his laughter, the man closest to Mark, the one that was facing him, turned to meet his eyes. Mark had the absolute pleasure of watching color drain from the man’s face as he realized who he was looking at. 

The dumbass frantically waved at his friend who, after a moment or two of whispered conversation, looked up at Mark as well. 

“Hello.” Mark’s voice rang out smooth and strong in the calm of the swamp, echoing through the leaves and twisting around branches. “Are you trying to place traps in a home that is not your own?” 

Dumbass, assuming the position of leader, spoke up “This swamp aint yours!  I can hunt here as I please.” 

Mark chuckled as he felt the roots under him twist in anger and the water around his ankles pull in defiance. 

“Perhaps not.”  Mark replied, looking down into the swirling boggy depths.  

He looked up at the two men again, studying them for a moment.  He took in the sight of their dirty skin, faded clothes, and rusted boat. They were two poor and probably hungry men with families to feed, yet here they were, not working but trying to capture animals they did not need.  These men did not want nourishment and life from the swamp as Mark did, they were up to their mud-caked overalls in greed and Mark was not going to stand for it. 

“Yes,” he began again, “Perhaps the swamp is not mine, but it is not yours either.” 

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dumbass asked, standing and nearly tipping the boat over.  Mark could practically see Colt just under the surface, snapping their jaws and waiting for the man to plummet into the mucky depts.  Waiting for him to fall into their teeth. 

Mark spoke again, trying to save the men from a fate they did not know approached in the form of the trees around them bending toward them threateningly and the moss curling up in disdain.  Mark knew the fury and hatred of the swamp, but these men did not. “You are not welcome here.  Please, return home and care for your families.” 

“C’mon, man.  Let’s just go, it’s not worth it.” The second man finally decided to speak. 

“No.  I came here for that gator and I aint leaving without her.” 

Mark sighed.  His familiar did not like to be given undesired genders.  

“Oh, you want to see a gator do you?” a new voice joined the conversation.  Mark knew that voice, and hearing it was like shoving swamp mud into your ears.  It seemed muted and distant but every syllable was pronounced perfectly, as if there was someone whispering into your ears. 

It struck fear into the hearts of the men, but Mark relaxed against The Old Warrior again.  He heard that voice in his head all the time. 

“Who’s there?” The first man shouted, spinning around and frantically searching for a fourth person. 

Mark watched as a tail curled around the boat, though it was not of an alligator, he knew the tail still belonged to Colt.  They had shifted again.  The men were as good as dead. 

The man who stood looked down and screamed, but Mark knew exactly what he was seeing.  The torso of a human, long black hair fanning around a distorted smile, too many teeth were in that smile, far too many teeth to be human. Mark knew that he saw a face with small scales littered around the cheeks and nose.  He saw eyes that were yellow and rotted.  The forehead was probably in the process of splitting open to reveal a third eye, black as the endless abyss and the man in the boat knew that his death was imminent.   

A scaled tail wrapped around his ankle, snatching him off his feet and Mark could swear that he heard the man’s bones break.  He watched as the man was pulled into the water, kicking and screaming with everything he had, but finally, he was pulled completely under and was not seen several minutes later. 

The second man in the boat sat petrified, having seen the monster as well.  He dare not look over the edge of the boat where the bog water was slowly turning from green to brown with the presence of his friend’s blood. 

Mark decided to speak up to try and save the poor bastard.  Only one ridiculous human had to die.  “If you’re fast enough, you might get away while they’re eating, but I wouldn’t suggest coming back.  They’re very temperamental.”  Mark sagged back against The Old Warrior, not caring that the man had snapped the engine to life and was speeding away as fast as he possibly could.

A few moments later, Mark watched as two scaled, clawed hands gripped a root close to him.  Those two hands pulled a somewhat human head and torso out of the water and he lifted his hand to pet Colt gently as they propped their chin on his knee. A tail came up to wrap around his arm and he closed his eyes, enjoying the faint memory of screams in the air while the roots below him eagerly drank up the trespasser’s blood and the water cleansed the bones of the fool.  Colt would use them to sharpen their teeth later. 

Yes, most knew to stay out of the swamps, but a newcomer moved to town the evening Mark watched as the swamp claimed another soul and he did not know to stay away.  He was not warned of the alligator with too many eyes and the beautiful raven-haired, brown eyed witch who could enchant him into a world of light and dark. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mark tilted his head back and gazed up at the sky.  Clouds curled together in heated anger and his heart thrummed in anticipation.  The rain would fall heavily and without mercy, Mark’s excitement and eagerness settled heavily in his chest.  


Shifting, he stretched out on his back, opening up to his senses and allowing himself to be swept into the anxious twirl of his surroundings. 

The roof wasn’t all that comfortable, but it was one of his favorite spots and sometimes the only place he found solitude.  Rough tiles dug into his back and wind pushed his hair in a thousand different directions, but it was the perfect place to accept the rain as it fell, cleansing his mind, body, and soul.  He took a deep breath and forced his body to completely relax, preparing himself for the sharp chill of tears falling from the clouds and splashing against his skin.

His small ruin of a home sat comfortably nestled on the edge of the swamp.  Trees stretched to the sky stood in an unyielding line ten yards from his front door and a step out of his back door would result in a direct drop into the murky depths of swamp water.  

He left his back door open for Colt as they liked to jump out of the water and, in their mermaid form, grip at the doorframe, hauling themselves into his kitchen to speak with him. He also would sometimes make the random choice to take a dip straight from his kitchen into the water, watching as Colt morphed back into an alligator and accompanying them as they dipped and danced between the roots of some of the larger trees further into the swamp.  He loved the cool shock of water as he dove in and he loved the challenging spark in Colt’s yellow eyes as they darted circles around him and tried to poke his toes with their tail while he tried to swim.

He tilted his head, listening as Colt splashed around in excitement of the upcoming storm, no doubt sensing his own excitement as it bubbled out of his chest and encircled him in a warm glow.  Grinning and rolling onto his side, he propped himself up with his elbow, leaned over the side of the roof and watched as Colt continued to play.  

Mark laughed softly at the childish way they ducked through the roots of submerged trees and crawled their way to the bank to toy with an unfortunate turtle that hadn’t been fast enough to escape their attention.  

His heart swelled at the sight and he couldn’t help but to remember what his grandmother had always reminded him:  ‘ _A happy familiar is a happy witch_.’  Colt was undeniably happy as they nudged the poor turtle to safety with a clawed hand, sat back on their knees and flicked their tail back and forth much like a dog would after harassing a cat.  

Probably feeling the presence of their witch, Colt glanced up at him and smiled, teeth jagged and the sun glinting off their scales.  They were just as excited for the torrent of weather as he was, he could feel it within them.  A storm could bring them both happiness and freedom like nothing else could.

The memory of him curling into his mother as he trembled and her holding him while a storm crashed against a completely different house flashed through Mark’s mind and suddenly his heart mirrored the overhead pain.

His childhood was happy. It was filled with laughter, sunshine, dancing, and his mother’s love.  He had a brother as well, an adoring one who loved Mark with everything he had and Mark missed them both so very much, even years later and even after he had been abandoned. 

A memory flashed through his mind of eating birthday cake and opening presents, laughing as his mother smeared a bit of icing onto his nose.

Another memory followed the first, this one of his brother reading him a bedtime story as Mark snuggled against him and listened, ensnared by the black and white words his brother was painting in vibrant colors. 

Yes, his life was incredibly happy until his fourteenth birthday, when his mother had seemingly lost her mind.  Well, that’s what he had assumed was happening at the time, only to find that her panic had not been completely ungrounded.  

He felt a dull ache in his chest and focused down on Colt again, who was looking up at him with their tail swishing behind them, curious to the harsh emotion that Mark suddenly felt. Being linked as they were, he couldn’t actually hide it from them, so he resigned to shrugging at them with one shoulder and watching as they trudged slowly back toward the water, never taking their eyes off of him. 

Sighing, Mark flopped onto his back once again to notice that the clouds overhead had become darker, the misery of the earth gathered into the sky accompanied by ominous rumbling, and Mark waited for the tears to escape.  

He had no idea what was happening at the time, he had been scared and hurt, looking for answers that no one seemed to have.  

He awoke on the morning of his birthday to the sun crawling back into the sleeping sky, chasing away the darkness as it climbed.  

Sitting up in bed he stretched, feeling his back pop into place.  He tossed the blanket off, and made his way to the bathroom he shared with his brother to get ready for the day.  He brushed his teeth first -he absolutely hated morning breath- then jumped in the shower and started to scrub at his short hair.  As he was scrubbing himself with the lemon scented soap his mother wouldn’t stop buying him, he noticed a weird red marking on him, directly in the center of his torso, right at the top of his stomach. 

Thinking that perhaps he had scratched himself while asleep or something, he ignored it.  He stepped out of the shower and began pulling warm, dry clothes over his damp skin.  As the day progressed and he danced with his friends and laughed with his family, the mark began to shade darker and darker without his knowledge, only noticing the patch of skin had started to burn as the sun began to sink below the horizon. 

It was just a simple scratch in the shape of a rough star that looked to have been done by a toddler. 

As it hadn’t gone away by the end of the day, he decided to ask his mother about it, perhaps he needed to see a doctor?  It was dark purple by then and almost scalding his skin. 

In nothing but his boxers, he approached his mother with the confused question on his lips, but as soon as her eyes flickered over the mark on his chest, she dropped the book she had been holding and stood up, walking over to him.  

He had been so surprised. His mother was a very tidy and proper person; for her to carelessly drop a book in the middle of the floor and ignore it while racing up to him as if he was in pain was like a red, glowing, ‘WARNING’ sign.  It scared the shit out of him.

“What is that?” She demanded, trembling and her voice breaking as if he had betrayed every ounce of faith she had ever had in him. “Did you do that to yourself?” 

She pressed the palm of her hand against the purple, marred flesh, only to jerk her hand away as if she had been burned.  Perhaps she had, it was certainly carving its way into Mark’s chest. 

“No!! Of course not!” He exclaimed, panic-ridden by his mother’s reaction.  Mark would vividly remember the horror-struck expression on his mother’s face for the rest of his life.  “I saw it this morning in the shower, but it was so light that I thought it was just a weird way I scratched myself while I was asleep.  Mom, it’s burning.  What do I do?  What’s wrong?” 

His mother had gone from trembles to violent shaking, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.  

The memory grated at his heart and he heard Colt yelp at the sharp pain he felt in his chest.  What she had said next made his stomach twist and he kind of wanted to lean over and puke over the edge of his house, the storm would wash the disgusting mess away anyway.  

He had been so confused and wounded, but though she knew what was happening to him, she could do nothing but express her shock.  

She had wanted them to be normal.  She hadn’t wanted it to happen to any of them, that’s why she was so relieved to find that she had given birth to sons.  Daughters would have been dangerous. 

Too bad it had claimed him anyway. 

“But you’re male.” Her voice was shrill and fragile, breaking as the syllables escaped her lips. 

“Yes? I am?” He answered, even more thoroughly confused.  Had his gender ever been questioned?  No, he had always felt like a male.  It was obvious that he was _attracted_ to men as well as women, that was true, but he was positive that he was a male himself. 

“You need to leave.” Tears streamed down her face as the words flew from her throat.  She was horrified, but heartbroken.  She loved him, he knew she did, but she was sending him away? She had to be kidding. 

“What? Mom, I’m not kidding, it’s starting to really hurt and-“

“I’m serious.  I’ll call your grandmother, you need to go pack.” She had scrambled away from him and was frantically looking for her cell phone. 

Mark could remember that moment.  The moment he realized his mother, the same mother who he had trusted and loved unconditionally up until that point in his life, was sending him away.  No explanation, no reasoning, no chance of even saying a proper goodbye.  He was simply to leave.  

The weight of the words had pressed into his shoulders, causing him to stumble. His ears were ringing in his head and his heart was pounding.  There were tears in his eyes and he couldn’t breathe, his lungs refused to draw in enough air to keep him alive and healthy.  He thought he was going to pass out, but he didn’t.  He stood more or less steady on his feet as he watched in sick fascination as his mother broke the world, the only one he had even known, into shattered pieces of hatred, confusion, and anger around him.  

Mark’s own hands began to shake violently as his body remained rock solid.  She couldn’t be serious. “Mom, I don’t understand-“

“You can’t be here.  I won’t have you here.  You will not bring curses into my home.” He had wondered what she had meant by curses, “Do not speak to your brother, go put some clothes on and come back to me.  Just pack the necessities, you won’t be needing anything else.  Your grandmother will take care of you.”  

His grandmother? What was she talking about? He hadn’t spoken to his grandmother since Christmas.  He didn’t even know much about the woman and she was supposed to come and collect him? 

“Mom?  Mom!  This isn’t funny!  What did I do?  Whatever it is, I’ll fix it, just tell me what I need to do!”  The floor was tilting underneath his feet and his vision was blurring.  On second thought, he was going to pass out after all. 

Her gaze snapped to him as he staggered and caught himself on the kitchen table.  She gave him a sad smile.  What in the hell was she doing to him?  She was breaking him. 

“I’m sorry, baby.  I can’t raise you.  I can’t teach you.”  She moved closer to him, her words nothing but garbled sobs. “You can’t live here.  You aren’t human.  You aren’t clean.”  She leaned in to kiss his forehead, but as she approached, Mark’s brain finally began to shut down and he felt his knees buckle before he slipped into darkness.          

Mark would always regret that the very last kiss his mother gave him, he would not feel.  He would never have the familiarity and warmth of her love again.  He was unclean, apparently.  

The clouds above him rolled and a loud crack of thunder shook his tiny home.  He sighed in relief as the first drop of water splashed against his face.  The cool of the rain began to pour over him then and he closed his eyes, letting the soothing drops clean him.  

The memories of hurt and betrayal would always churn angrily within him at the thought of his mother, but he brushed them aside to accept the cool grace of a new beginning.  

He let the memories wash over him once again, trying to keep his distance from them emotionally, examining them through the eyes of someone who did not bear the pain of them.

He had woken up in the back of his grandmother’s car a few hours later, his clothes and toiletries stuffed in a suitcase that rested in the floorboard. 

He had been so heartbroken, so confused.  He wanted nothing more than to curl into himself and cry, but he did not know the woman who was gripping the wheel in the front seat and he would not show her his weakness.  

Swallowing, he pushed down the hot tears bubbling up in his chest and sat up.

He only saw his grandmother once a year: she would visit during the Christmas season but would usually leave quickly, normally within an hour. 

Despite his mother trying to hide it from him and his brother, Mark knew she called constantly, but his mother would either ignore her calls completely or answer only to hang up on her.  He had no idea why they hated each other, or rather why his mother hated his grandmother, but obviously, it was something that was not meant for him to know at the time. 

A witch.

His grandmother was a witch. 

As soon as she noticed he was awake, she smiled and pulled into a gas station with a coffee shop add-on.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?  We still have a few hours to go and I need some caffeine.” She put her hands in her lap and looked back at him.  

It had pained him that he could see the hurt and intense….guilt in the shine of her dark brown eyes?  Why would she feel guilty?  Was she a part of it?  Was she the reason his mother nearly had a heart attack? 

“I’m... I’m not hungry.” He mumbled, looking down at himself and fighting back the tears that were threatening again.  

There was silence, he did not look up at her.  She sighed and got out of the car, heading into the gas station without a word. 

He pressed his forehead into the back of the seat in front of him and took deep breaths for a few moments before he transferred over to the front seat and waited for her to get back. He wanted an explanation for what happened, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for it yet.  

The driver’s side door opened, startling him and his grandmother slipped into the car, pushing a chocolate bar and a bottle of water at him. 

Mark gave her a confused look before quietly accepting the offer. 

“I know that you said you didn’t want anything,” she began, “but I have a firm belief that chocolate can cure heartache.”  She popped a bit of her own chocolate into her mouth before smiling at him again. “Then again, in my humble opinion, chocolate can cure just about anything if you look at it the right way.” 

She was trying to make him feel better and Mark tried to fake a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace.  

As she began the apparently long drive again, he took the opportunity to munch on his chocolate and get a good look at her. 

She looked very young to be a grandmother if he was honest with himself, but he didn’t actually know how old she was, so he kept himself quiet, knowing better than to ask a woman her age. 

She had long, mostly grey hair with flecks of white intermingled in the strands and she wore them loose and full, framing her heart-shaped face.  

She had brown eyes, with laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.  Her fingers held a grip that was too young and full of life to belong to an elderly woman, but his mother had told him that women in his family aged well.   

She wore a black t-shirt and simple jeans, nothing too crazy or out of the ordinary and Mark realized that his mother had apparently gotten all of her looks from her father.  A father his mother had told him that she had never met.  

Mark blinked and watched as the road in front of them disappeared underneath the tires.

They rode in silence for hours, but she had finally told him as they pulled into the garage of her house. He had considered her completely insane and had laughed, but she bowed her head in shame, blushing and insisting that it was true. 

“What?  Grandma, witches aren’t _real._ ” 

She sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, Mark.” She spoke softly, picking at a loose thread in her jeans. She refused to look up at him as she continued, “You and your brother were never meant to know.  You see, witches are normally women.  The fact that my daughter had two sons was a bit of a shock to the family, and we considered her lucky.  We thought neither of you could be cursed.  I suppose our blood is much stronger than even I anticipated and I’m supposed to be the crone.”  A sad smile crossed her face and she stopped picking at her jeans to stare into the distance. 

Mark could remember sitting in that car and watching as his world, the one that had crumbled to chaos not a full day beforehand, turn on its belly.  He felt sick, horribly sad, betrayed, confused... it was just a strange freight train of emotions that seemed to crash into his chest hard enough to knock tears from his eyes and cause his heart to stop. 

“Oh, dear boy,” she began, her southern accent dancing through the air between them, and he could see through blurry eyes that her head had moved and he assumed she was gazing at him “It’s terrifying right now, but I’m here, and I will teach you all that I know.”  

She flicked her fingers in Mark’s direction, causing a burst of wind to hit him in the face with enough force to blow his hair back, and he blinked hard, feeling his eyes sting at the sudden gust.  

“The symbol on your chest,” She gestured to it with the fingers she had used to coax the wind into action. “it’s what marks us all.  It was a scar from the first witch in the family, and it will always appear on magical children.”

“Does Mom...” he trailed off, horrified. 

“No.” She sighed, “Your mother is not marked.  She is human, as is your brother.” 

“This is crazy. You’re crazy.  This isn’t real, this has to be a trick.  I don’t- I don’t.” He was hyperventilating.  He was scared.  None of it could be real. 

The woman who was practically a stranger to him reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and, though she was trying to help, Mark’s panic only spiked to a ridiculous level. He felt like the entire world had lied to him since his birth. 

She rubbed her thumb over his shoulder blade, and in a tone saturated in determination, she said, “I will take care of you.” 

She had. 

After he settled in the small southern town, she sent him to school, but also spent every waking moment she could teaching Mark things that he couldn’t learn around other children.

He learned the healing and destructive power of the world around him as well as himself.  She taught him to heal even the foulest of creatures, humans included.  She taught him how to hex the most innocent.  She taught him to dance and breathe and so many glorious, chaotic, beautiful, destructive things. 

Mark’s stomach rolled. He missed her.  Her death could be comparative to sawing his own arm off. He felt that he was missing something essential and it was one of the most painful experiences in his life.  Slowly, but surely he had begun to miss his family less and less and had come to love the swamp that protected him.    

He had found Colt two weeks after his sixteenth birthday.  He was still learning at the time, but his grandmother had thought it best he find his familiar, as she was getting quite old and couldn’t be with him forever. 

It was something he had to do alone.  She couldn’t help him in that particular adventure.  

He hadn’t found the safe haven of the roof yet, so in an attempt to find a quiet, peaceful area, he wandered into the middle of the swamp, a few miles away from the small house in which he and his grandmother lived.  He found a very old, large tree, with roots large enough for him to sit on. He scrambled through the mossy water and up onto the roots, leaning his back against the trunk.  He sat comfortably with his feet dangling, not quite tall enough to dip into the water, but it was a comfortable spot with no humans to disrupt his peace.  

He closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing, in and out, in and out, slowly, to quiet his heart and clear his mind.  He felt wind ruffle his hair and clothes.  Water splashed up onto his feet.  The swamp seemed to stir with life and he could sense it in every cell of his body.  He emptied his mind of his troubles, mentally stuffing them into a bag and knotting the top closed, readying himself to accept where his mind would take him.  He soared in empty blankness for a moment before he felt like he was being plunged into icy water.  

He knew it was not something that was actually happening.  He could feel his body exactly where it was, still propped against the tree on top of the swamp.  It hadn’t fallen and no one had disturbed it.  What he was experiencing was mental, and he had to let everything flow as he had been taught to.

Calming himself, he inspected his current mindscape. 

He was underwater and all around him were the knarled roots of trees and moss.  The water was thick and dark, he couldn’t see through the murky sludge in direct sunlight, and the shadows looked impossible to navigate.  

He took a deep breath of air.  His body was fine; he was alive.  He just needed to remain calm and open. 

Shadows moved in the darkness and he wanted to hold his breath, to swim away and scamper back to his home and safety, but he knew nothing would hurt him in his own mind. He was in control.  

He allowed himself to be inspected by the thriving shadows, keeping his breathing even and his heartbeat steady.  

Suddenly, a tail shot out and wrapped itself around him, pulling him closer to the darkness.  

A figure approached him, its human limbs ended in tough scales and horrifying claws, its torso, hips, and upper thighs were relatively normal, but had small, hard scales scattered about its shoulders and chest.  The inhuman, sharp smile and yellow, sickly eyes seemed almost familiar to him.  

It spoke, and Mark felt like mud was being shoved into his ears, “You.  Are you my witch?  I feel that I know you.” 

Mark opened, his mouth to speak but stopped.  His grandmother had taught him that his familiar, a being that held a piece of himself in them, could communicate with him through telepathy. 

“I suppose so,” Mark replied mentally, smiling shortly at the being.

The tail let him go, allowing him to float, suspended in motion and time in front of them. 

Swimming around him, the being trailed a claw across his skin. “I am not accustomed to male witches. I am intrigued.  I am Colt.”  It wrapped its tail around his leg once again, moving close to him.

“Mark.  Nice to meet you.”

Twelve years later, Colt was still at his side, and he couldn’t have gotten as far as he had without them.  

What the town called ,The Old Swamp Witch, which had been Mark’s grandmother had withered and finally died on a bright and sunny day in the middle of August.  He could remember the heat of the sun bearing down on his back as he mechanically flowed through a cleansing ritual and proceeded to burn her. 

It was a tradition in his family: as the Crone of the family died, she was to be cleansed, burned, and given back to the Earth.  

Colt was a steady anchor for him at the time.  Though they could not leave the murky swamp water, they sat with Mark as he shattered apart and put himself back together.  They kept their tail wrapped around him in comfort almost constantly in those days.

Mark had never felt so grateful for them.  

Sitting up, he glanced back over the edge of the roof to see Colt’s head and shoulders sticking out of the water, enjoying the short sprinkle of showers that swept across their land. 

He scooted over to the edge and pushed off, feeling his body float for a millisecond in excitement before falling and splashing into the freezing water beside Colt.  He never even bothered to pop back up, but let the water shift around him, feeling the crash of rain against the surface and the push of a tiny current as Colt dunked under and followed him. 

Making his way back toward a shallower portion of the swamp, he rose to the surface, raising his arms and tilting his head back.

Colt, knowing what he was doing, shifted, curling into their alligator form and moving away to watch him. They loved to watch Mark dance. He had always been so grateful for the rain and the storm, always willing to thank the earth and the creatures that gave him life.  

Mark stood in the cool summer water, letting the rain caress his skin through the branches of the drooping trees.  He swayed his hips back and forth, swirling himself around before spinning, throwing water into the air, feeling it splash onto his skin and cleanse his soul.  The overhead branches rippled with his heartbeat and he moaned at the sensation of the wind whipping through his hair and skimming across his skin.  Chills rose on the naked skin of his back and he felt himself melt into his movements, his graceful push and pull which silenced the area around him.  Nature stilled to watch the witch’s dance.

Hidden in a cluster of trees, a pair of bright, intrigued blue eyes were glued to the dip and twist of the tantalizing skin in front of them, watching the rain slip over strong muscles as they contracted and pulled.

Sensing the presence of a curious soul, Mark turned, spotting the crystal blue easily in the mess of green and brown.  The blue widened as a pair of smooth brown eyes locked them into place, beckoning them forward, toward the dance and the grace that was on display in front of them. 

Colt felt the change in their witch and turned to the patch of space that Mark had trapped in his spell. In unison, familiar and witch began to move toward their prey. 

The blue eyes broke away from the spell and turned, sprinting back the way they came without so much as a yelp or a whispered word of apology.  

The pair stopped, surprised. Not many humans could resist a spell cast by Mark himself, and the fact that the man had obviously broken the beckoning call so easily unsettled them.  

The rain continued to wash the two clean and disabled their visitor slightly as Mark allowed them to escape. The poor human was tripping over himself, and nearly decapitated himself on a nearby branch, but eventually, he fumbled his way out of Mark’s line of sight and was gone.  

It was a shame.  The man was incredibly handsome and Mark would have loved to have him under his thumb for a day.  

Tilting his head, Mark eyed Colt before smiling.  Perhaps keeping an eye on the human would not be such a bad idea.  Colt rolled their eyes and disappeared underwater to attend to their own business, while Mark stepped out of the water and into the mud. 


	3. Ostara and first meetings

Walking through the front door of Mark’s house brought you into a living room that was hardly ever used.  On the opposite wall of the front door led a breezeway into the kitchen.  The back door of the house, the door in which Colt climbed in when they felt like it, was in the kitchen on the opposite wall of the breezeway.  It was the largest room in the house.  


The wall directly across from the breezeway, the wall with the back door, was where the stove, oven, sink, and cabinets were located.  In the center of the floor was a long island that could seat two people, but the stools that were once stationed there were pushed off to the side with, forgotten and collecting dust.

When Mark was a teenager, he would sit on the stool to the left while his grandmother took the stool to the right.  He would eat, do his homework, and cook there.  

The stools were removed after his grandmother’s death.  He had no use for them anymore.

The cabinets in the center island were where he kept his silverware, plates, bowls, glasses, etc.

To the left in the cabinets around the sink and oven were where he kept the pots, pans, and various other cooking utensils. In the cabinets to the right were where he kept his jars upon jars of herbs, spices, and various liquids.  

The more common cooking spices were to the front while the more obscure things were pushed to the back.

Everything was clearly labeled and sealed tight, just as he had been taught.  He didn’t necessarily need the labels himself, but his grandmother had told him horror stories of when she had guests and they would accidentally pull out the wrong ingredient and the results were disastrous.  Mark doubted that he would ever have guests - everyone in town was too afraid of him, even though he had been nothing but polite his entire life- but he labeled and tagged anyway.  

Over the island hung various herbs - again, all labeled - that he hadn’t gotten around to using yet.  

On the right wall stood a shelf filled to the brim with various pots, jars, coffee mugs, and vases.  They were each housing a plant of some kind.   Some poisonous and dangerous, but most simple herbs or plants that he used for rituals and spells.  

The smell of soil and herbs wafted through the house, traveling into his bedroom, filling the small home with happiness and hope.

As soon as Mark woke up, he rolled out of bed and skipped into the kitchen, ready to breathe in some fresh air.  

He threw open the back door and looked down, expecting the smiling face of Colt just below the surface of the water.  Reaching down, he held out a hand to help them haul themselves partly into the kitchen.

Colt had a habit of sitting with their legs dangling out of the doorway and letting their toes settle into the swamp water.  They either sat that way in their human form, splayed themselves out in the middle of the floor in their gator form, or sat with their back to the wall and watched Mark cook.  

When they were seated comfortably with their back against the door, tail wrapped around themselves and one leg dangling out of the doorway, Mark returned to the center of the kitchen to start on the day’s preparations.  

He had nothing better to do, so why not do everything he could to celebrate the spring equinox?

But first: to remove the eggs from the dye.

He dyed eggs naturally the night before, using purple cabbage for the turquoise eggs, onion skins for the rust colored eggs, beets for the deep red ones, and turmeric for the yellow ones.  

He popped the cap off of the jars that held the eggs and dye, cringing at the strong smell of vinegar that still wafted from the mixture.  After gently pouring the eggs and dye into the sink, he cleaned the eggs of the extra dye and placed them aside on a towel.  

After gently patting them dry, he took half of the dozen eggs and placed them in a bowl to arrange on his alter along with the fresh flowers and colorful candles.

Smiling to himself at the bright decorations, he turned to walk back into the kitchen, listening as Colt hummed tunelessly from their spot in the sunlight.

Wiggling past Colt, he leaned out of the back door to look up at the sky, feeling the wind and sun embrace his skin in a welcoming warm breeze.  

The blue sky reminded him of a stranger’s eyes.

He blinked.  The thought surprised him.  It had been a little over a week since the stranger came and interrupted his dance and he had been in and out of Mark’s thoughts the entire time.  

Mark had never seen anyone break away from him so easily.  It puzzled and astounded him. 

Leaning against the door frame, he contemplated the handsome man while Colt wrapped her tail around his waist.

The man had the strangest shade of green hair.  Clearly unnatural - unless he was fey, and Mark very highly doubted that - with eyes blue like summer skies and skin as pale as water lily petals.  

He was clearly new to the small, southern town as Mark had never seen him before.  He was wandering around in the swamps, which means he hadn’t heard the rumors that floated around of the “terrifying witch and cursed gator” that lived there.  

Mark perked up slightly.  A stranger, completely oblivious to the town and it’s ignorance, could see Mark as human.  Maybe Mark could have an actual human friend.

Don’t misunderstand.  Colt was an amazing companion, they were almost a part of Mark, but another human being to talk to would be amazing.  Another pair of eyes that understood human emotion and who he could laugh and be ridiculous with.  

It was his chance and he was going to take it.  

It was time to welcome the new stranger into town.

Tapping Colt’s tail to make them release him, he slipped back into the kitchen and bounced on the balls of his feet, contemplating how to go about things.

He startled Colt a bit with the clanging of pots and pans as he pulled out everything he needed.  

He washed his hands before throwing yeast, milk, flour, sugar, an egg, and a few spices into a bowl,  he began to mix.  After a while, the mixture became too tough to handle with a fork, so he tossed the utensil into the sink and dipped his hands into the bowl to began mixing the dough with his hands.

After it was thoroughly mixed together, he began to knead the dough until he felt it was the correct consistency.  throwing it back into the bowl, he placed a towel over it and left it in the patch of counter top that sat in the sun to rise.  

After walking away to flip through his notebook for an hour, he returned and added dried fruit and honey to the mixture before mixing more and chopping into twelve even rolls.  

He placed them on two baking sheets and went off to make his own butter and glaze.  

After mixing a few ingredients together and pouring the mixture into a bag, he made a cross shape on the top of each roll of dough before placing them in the oven to bake.

While the buns were baking, Mark turned to toss a few fresh herbs into a small bowl (he was too lazy to go and get his pestle and mortar) and mix them together. From this mixture, he made Ostara tea in which he poured into two small Jars and placed them aside.  

Reaching underneath his sink, Mark found the large basket that he used to gather flowers in.  Tossing a cloth into the bottom, he set the jars inside and retrieved a large bowl to place his buns in after they were ready.

Placing his naturally dyed eggs into a smaller bowl, he then placed the bowl in the center of a piece of cloth, then brought the edges to bunch together above the bowl and tied a ribbon to keep everything in place.  He placed the eggs beside the tea in the basket.

After opening the oven to inspect the now golden buns, he took them out and smothered them in the glaze that he made earlier.  

Placing six buns into the large bowl, he replicated the process he did with the egg bowl and placed the buns in the large, open part of the basket.  

Tossing a towel over the entire thing, he looked over to Colt, ready to announce his intentions with the basket, though he assumed they already knew and was startled to find them peacefully weaving a crown of flowers - all real, of course- to match the one they wore atop their matted head of hair.

Guilt clawed at his heart.  He had nearly forgotten about someone more important to him than breathing in his eagerness to make just one friend.  

Strolling over, he plopped down in front of them and raised his arms to allow Colt’s tail to wrap around his midsection yet again.  

“Whatcha doin?” He asked.  

Colt looked at him as if he were stupid, “I’m making matching crowns for the two of us, of course.  Same thing I do every year.  There is not much else I can do, after all.”

Mark nodded and went to retrieve one of his buns, holding one out to Colt and watching as they bent forward, opening their mouth to devour half of the treat in one bite.  

After they ate in silence and peace, Mark bent to rest his forehead against Colt’s shoulder, feeling the mixture of human skin and animal scale against his face.  It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but most things in his life weren't comfortable.  

After a few moments, Colt shrugged him off.  He sat up to look at them, only for a large crown of tulips to be plopped onto his head.  

“Did you get these out of my garden?” Mark asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yup.” They giggled, swaying back and forth in happiness, their eyes saturated in mischief.  

Mark shoved his forehead against their shoulder, “Jerk.”

They laughed harder, “Yeah.”

Everything went quiet again, both of them basking in the spring warmth as the sun climbed to the highest point in the sky.

Colt scratched as his knee with one of their long claws.  "Go.  Go drop off your little gift.  Welcome the new hatchling into town.“

“I’m not a hatchling anymore, Colt.”

They sighed, “But ah, you’re so young.”  

Mark rolled his eyes and tapped their tail again in a loving ‘goodbye-I’ll-see-you-in-a-little-bit’ gesture.  Colt released them and grinned before scooting to the edge of the floor and plummeting into the depths below.

Lifting himself from the floor, Mark grabbed his little gift basket and walked out of the open front door.  

He always left the windows and doors open, no one could step one foot into his home without Colt ripping them into pieces.  

As Mark strolled to town, basket in hand and flowers still in place around his head, he realized belatedly that he didn’t know where the new stranger lived.  He had a good idea, however, as the Johnson's on Old Port Gibson street had just moved away.  

The sun was a bit hotter than he expected.  He whistled for a gust of wind to cool him down, sighing as the wind he called for ghosted across his skin.  

After passing the newly built church and crossing the old rusted bridge, Mark came upon the small, sweet home that the Johnson's had inhabited only a month before.  

He had no special love for the family that moved away.  They were an old, religious sort who were some of the first to point fingers at him whenever something horrible happened or whenever the slightest of foul weather rolled into town.

A memory flashed through his mind of himself as a teenager, simply strolling down the street and whistling when old Mrs. Johnson approached him.  

“I just want to help you.” she implored, “I want to see you rise to heaven! Please, cast aside the foolishness that your grandmother has fallen into.  I just care about you, my dear.”

He could remember the sick twist of his gut.  He hadn’t asked to be a witch.  He would happily live in the ignorance of religion, but he was too sharp, too open to the truth of what he was to hide in the false securities of such things.  

He did not hate religious people, but he did not like people who knew what he believed in and still opted to try and ‘convert’ him.  He knew what he was.  There was no need for the hate.  He accepted them perfectly fine, why couldn’t they return the courtesy?

Shaking the memory away, Mark gripped the basket tighter and made his way across the walkway and up to the front door.  

He could hear faint shuffling coming from inside and he grinned, pleased that the man had managed to make it home that day and hadn’t been eaten by anything lurking in the swamp.

He knocked harshly on the door, hoping that through the hustle and bustle that he could hear through the door, that he would be heard.  

He hadn’t expected the door to swing open only a second later, or the deep blush to spread across the guy’s face as soon as he saw him.

There was silence for a few seconds before Mark spoke, “Hello.”  He hoped his voice came out as smooth and even as he practiced. “I brought you a small present to welcome you to town.”

The blue-eyed man blinked then looked down at the basket in Mark’s hands.  He smiled and stepped back before answering, “Thank you!  I just got here a few days ago.  I didn’t know if anyone knew I was even here.”

Mark chuckled, “Oh, this is a small town, I’m afraid.  The whole town probably knew you were moving in before you did.”

He laughed before waving Mark inside, holding out his hand for the basket. “Oh no.  Is it that type of town?  I assume they don’t like strangers much.”

Mark winced, “Uh, no.  No, they don’t.”

The man tilted his head and his eyebrows scrunched together adorably, “I assume you were new at some point?  Did you have a hard time?”

Mark smiled bitterly, handing over the basket to the only person who had bothered to be kind to him in years. “Yeah.  You could say that.”

The answer got him a sympathetic look from the stranger. “I’m sorry to hear that, man.”  

The man turned and led Mark into the kitchen where he placed the basket on the table before turning back to Mark and holding his hand out. “My name’s Sean, but I’d prefer it if you called me Jack, please.”  

Mark blushed, not expecting the sudden action, but reached out to shake the offered hand anyway, “I’m Mark.  It’s nice to meet you.”

Jack gave him a charming smile and Mark’s heart clenched.

That was new.

Mark brushed off the feeling.  It w because Jack was so nice to him.  The feeling will fade once the townspeople got their hands on him and filled him with lies and hate.

“I like the flowers, by the way.”

Mark gave him a confused look and Jack pointed to the mess of flowers atop his head.

“Oh! My crown!  Yeah, a friend made it for me.”

“It suits you,” Jack said quietly, blushing and turning back to the basket. “What do we have in here?”

“Well,” Mark began, moving to stand next to Jack. “I don’t know if you know this, but today is March the 20th.  Ostara, or the spring equinox as you probably call it, is today.”

Jack looked at Mark, “I didn’t know that, but it’s pretty cool.”

Mark smiled happily at the curious look on the other man’s face. “It’s a day of rebirth.  It’s a day to celebrate passion, vitality, and growth.”  He reached into the basket and pulled out the small container housing the eggs and opened it, gazing down at their pastel shells.  "The goddess Ostara is told to be the one to bring the spring, as she was late one year, she found a bird who lay dying on the ground because his wings were frozen from the frost of winter.  She saved him out of guilt and eventually he became her lover.  She turned him into a rabbit, but as a tribute to him being a bird originally, she gave him the ability to lay eggs.  She became angry with him when she suspected him of being with another woman, so she tossed him into the sky where he would forever stay as the constellation Lepus.  As time passed, she could remember all of the passionate and loving times they shared, so she allowed him to come to Earth one night each year, but the eggs he laid he would have to give to the children who celebrated and held festivals in her honor.“  

Looking up and seeing Jack’s startled face, Mark blushed scarlet and thrust the eggs at Jack’s chest.  "That’s why people dye eggs and where the Easter bunny came from and I’m rambling now I’m so sorry.”  He pushed the sentence out all in one breath and was worried that Jack hadn’t gotten it all.  

He was wise and confident in most things that he did, but he had no idea how to handle himself in the face of an average human man.

Despite Mark’s odd behavior, Jack smiled at him. “Thank you!  I had no idea.  I was wondering what rabbits and eggs had to do with Easter.  I guess nothing.”  He chuckled and put the eggs down, peeking into the basket. “Is there more?”

Mark’s blush deepened and he lifted the towel, revealing the still warm buns and jars of tea.  "I make homemade bread and tea as well as dye eggs every year.  I hope you like them.  They’re not poisoned or anything.“

Jack looked at him, surprised, "Why would I think they were poisoned?”

Mark was going to die of embarrassment.  This was not going well.

“The town… still doesn’t really like me.  Or trust me.  I guess it’s habit to try to explain myself.  Um, I should be getting home, I have a friend waiting for me.”

“Oh?”  Jack asked, “A wife? Husband?”

Mark was a little bit surprised that the stranger was open minded but then cringed at the mental image of him and Colt.

“No.  Oh, wow, no.  They’re just a friend.  That’s all they’ll ever be, I’ve never even thought about them that way.”

Jack laughed at the horrified look on his face and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, man.  Come back by anytime!  Thanks for the welcoming present!  It was thoughtful.”

Mark slowly began to back out of the house, itching to sprint back to his swamp.  

He was exceedingly flattered that Jack liked his gift, but he had no idea how to handle himself in polite company anymore and he was too captivated by Jack’s blue eyes to think rationally.

Mark nodded and smiled before turning and heading outside, tossing a quick “It was nice to meet you!” over his shoulder and waving before he closed the door behind himself.  

As he practically skipped back to his home, he caught the surprised faces of many townsfolk who were shocked to see him out and roaming around in the middle of the day.  He must have looked interesting with a wide grin, hair full of flowers, and a cheery attitude.  He waved at a few people as he passed and they froze in their tracks in shock and fear.  Mark ignored the fear and continued on his way.  

When he finally arrived home, he plopped down on the floor of his kitchen, listening as Colt pulled themselves into the house and spread out on their back beside him.

They basked in Mark’s embarrassed, worried, yet overwhelmingly happy energy for a good thirty minutes before Colt spoke up.

“Perhaps making a human friend would be good for you.”

Mark turned to grin at them.  Yeah, perhaps it might.


End file.
